Gold
by The Dandy Lion
Summary: Fran couldn't tell when her response to the simple question had changed- but she couldn't say she really minded. Direct companion piece to Ruby. Balthier/Fran. Review?  :


AN; As always, and reviews, comments, or tips/fixes are extremely welcome and will make me adore you forever. Requests for pairings/topics/prompts are always open and very much desired! This is the companion piece to **Ruby**, and while not necessary reading, I think they compliment each other. :3 Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Gold<strong>

If there was one thing Fran had learned about the Hume race, it was that they were entertained by very trivial things.

Favourite articles of clothing, for instance- as if what you wore upon your body had any other purpose but to keep you protected from whatever creature next figured you to be a sufficient dinner. What did it matter what it was made of as long as the material was sturdy and strong? Then there was the jewelry that was apparently a sign of wealth among them- the more rings of heavy, shiny metals they wore. The more bracelets and earrings and necklaces, the higher standing they seemed to be. It made her wonder if Balthier wore all those rings and bracelets of cheap, brightly-coloured rubber as a mocking tip-of-the-hat to the wealthy who flaunted it- but she had never asked. Then there were things as mundane as a favourite colour. Why would someone put so much effort into trying to pick one when they were so many- and really, when you finally chose, was there any purpose in such a decision? To Fran, if things were to be done, they should be done for a reason.

Balthier had asked her once when they had first partnered up what her favourite colour was, as part of him peppering her with seemingly random questions. "It's good to get to know who you're working with," He had said with a mischievous glint in his amber gaze, as if hinting that his intentions were much different from the seemingly simple game he had proposed. His questioning ended up being more of an interrogation, always borderline on insolence, but he always backed off when Fran's gaze intensified ever so slightly, warning that his current query was one she wouldn't be answering. Occasionally, he would offer her the chance to question him back, but when he did, she would simply stare back at him in silence, eyebrows arched- she didn't see why it mattered if they knew anything about each other. This wasn't some personal thing- it was a partnership. Working together shouldn't involve so many questions, and at the time, she hadn't cared to ask any. She just wanted to finish this pointless session and get herself on that beautiful airship the impertinent young man was in possession of. To her, getting onto the _Strahl_ would be the ultimate cut of ties from the Wood, from the life she had grown up with. It would be her wings to freedom, a freedom long struggled for.

And she had waited long enough for it, so she supposed she could survive this attack of curiosity, as long as he continued to cheerfully brush it off and move on to the next question when she made a visible hint she wasn't going to answer. After a five-streak of inquiries that Fran had ignored by putting up a wall of silence, Balthier seemed almost frustrated- something that Fran could sense, even this early into her knowledge of him, didn't happen often. He was quiet as well for a long moment, then finally burst out, "What's your favourite colour, then? You must be alright with answering _that._" Fran looked at him in a way that subtly hinted that she felt he had lost his mind, then sat back and actually thought about it. A preference out of them all? Her mind ran over her choices for a moment, then finally she glanced up at him, head tilted just a tiny degree to the side. "I would suppose it to be green." Fran had finally replied, still not too long gone that images of the Wood and it's emerald boughs and earthy smell didn't frequently pop up in her head.

Years had passed since then, and everything had changed. Who she was, who Balthier was. Their outlooks, their activities, the people they had met and the places they had gone. Now, after a long day of Mark hunting, the group had settled around the crackling blaze Penelo had sparked up with a simple Fire spell. One by one the group had dropped off- Vaan snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Penelo curled like a small blonde cat not far from his side. Basch sprawled out at one corner, one hand ever on the hilt of his sword, mere feet from the little Hume princess with her sharp words and stubborn mindset. Figuring Balthier was asleep as well and not at all tired herself, Fran decided to play sentinel, and positioned herself on a pile of brush near the fire, perched lightly and perfectly still.

Minutes passed in a blur as Fran's ears drew in the little sounds of the night. The soft cooing sound wild Chocobos made when sleepy, the distant tromping of Mesmenirs. It was comforting and peaceful and almost lulled her, when her vision suddenly focused again, ears flicking- footsteps approaching her. She started to tense just slightly then it registered that the gait was nearly as familiar as her own, and her form quickly relaxed as Balthier settled himself next to her, a rather displeased look on his face. "I fear that I'm getting dreadfully close to tying Vaan's mouth closed with a handkerchief. It amazes me that one little street-urchin can be quite so loud." His expression caused one of bemusement to flicker onto hers, until she met his gaze. His gold eyes seemed to be not reflecting the nearby firelight but drawing illumination from them, making them a more intense shade then ever. They seemed to look right through her, read her thoughts if such a thing was possible- and if it was, Balthier was the last person in the world who should have such an ability, for all the things he would use it for. His look was almost disconcerting, but drew her attention at the same time.

She liked that colour.

Fran remained silent, but unlike those times long ago when they had first met, her silence spoke volumes- that she understood his frustration, sympathized even, although the amused look had not yet gone away. The quiet air between them was companionable as Balthier tore at blades of grass, seemingly lost in his own thoughts for once. When he looked down, he saw that he had pulled up a tiny wildflower, the petals a dark red. Bringing it up to his face, his eyes squinted just slightly as he examined the plant. "I do think this has to be my favourite colour. Dark red, garnet, ruby. Whatever people choose to call it." He tossed the thing back at his feet, then glanced up at her, eyebrows waggling suggestively. "And yours?"

The Viera was surprised that someone who could clearly recall memories from the time he was about three would forget their conversation when he asked the same question. But she found her answer was no longer the same, the longer she thought about it, and when she finally replied, she surprised herself.

"Gold, I think."

Balthier hadn't forgotten their conversation.

Perplexed, he wondered what had changed Fran's mind, when she was such a creature of constancy.

After a moment, he shrugged slightly. Fran never stopped surprising him.

Fran, too, was wondering where the change had come from.

Green was okay, maybe. Gold was much better.


End file.
